If you’ve read my filth, you probably know that semi-public sex is a big kink of mine – I find getting away with fucking (or getting away with getting fucked) very hot. And when it comes to semi-public sex, I think the art of a foot job is underrated. Not that I’m good at giving foot jobs, necessarily, but I find them really fun and don’t often hear folks talking about them.
Content note for semi public sex.
Maybe that’s because of the name – to me, there is something deeply unsexy about the phrase ‘foot job’, even though ‘hand job’ and ‘blow job’ are definitely sexy words. Or maybe it’s because foot jobs fall under the much-misused concept of foreplay and are lost amidst kissing, groping and grinding.
And of course, foot jobs don’t have to fall under semi-public sex, they just usually do for me. If I push my foot towards my partner’s crotch when we’re in bed together, I’ll more likely to have my ankle grabbed and my pressure points poked until I am begging them to stop, or end up kissing them while using my hand on their dick. Foot jobs usually happen when I’m trying to be furtive: when I want to fuck with my partners in public without it being too obvious.
I’m careful when giving a foot job while in a public place, and I’m definitely not advocating for you to engage semi-public sex that could non-consensually involve someone else in your play. When I can do it safely, though, it’s so much fun. Turning them on and taunting them with their arousal is fun – especially when they’re not in a position where they can fuck me back.
Here are four places that I definitely haven’t given a foot job… Oh wait, I have given foot jobs in three of these places – and the fourth one is going to happen very, very soon.
On a train
He stayed over at mine after we fucked the night before, which obviously led to morning sex. We sit opposite each other on the train – we’re heading in the same direction, after all – at one of those tables that definitely give enough privacy to give a foot job. Well, in a mostly empty carriage they do, but the fun part is watching him bite his lip as his cock twitches through his jeans as my foot massages it. While no one can see what I was doing to him, his little whines and moans of pleasure could give the game away, so he has to hold his sounds of pleasure back. Teasing him when he has to keep quiet is a delightful ending to our first fuck-session.
I stopped rubbing my foot against his crotch when the ticket inspector came along and asked him to find his rail card. Honestly.
In a fancy(-ish) restaurant
We’ve been fucking all evening, but I still plug their ass before we head out to dinner – a promise that I’m not done with them yet. They’re also wearing my scarf, which makes me feel possessive in a way that works for both of our kinks, and we’re both a little giggly after a few hours of fucking. Almost as soon as we sit down in the restaurant I slip off my boot and gently press my foot against their dick. They tense instantly, and their nervousness fuels my sadistic grin. I feel so powerful as I rub my foot over their jeans, only easing up when the waiter comes to take our order. I leave my foot between their legs, though – a reminder of who’s in charge and who’s going to be keeping them horny.
Their muffled noises of frustration are almost as sweet as the chocolate fondant I eat while smirking, and much hotter than it’s molten chocolate centre.
On another train
We’re on the way back from a sex shop, and they’re teasing me about the new gag we bought that they’re gong to use on me later. They forget, however, that I can turn the tables really fast, and they make an adorable surprised face when I push my foot against their crotch. I now know not only how they like me to jerk them off, but also know how to rub my foot against their cock until they whine. I lean forward, asking them sweetly to keep telling me about how they’ll fuck me up later while making it impossible for them to think about anything but the warmth and pressure of my toes at the base of their cock.
But I forget that while I can give them a foot job under the table, I find it much harder to hide my own arousal when they decide to get their own back.
In a Starbucks
They’re wearing their butt plug – not the one I bought them for Christmas but the one that they can wear for sustained periods of time. And sustained periods of teasing, of course. I make them order for us, because I want to make sure they know whose in charge and watch them squirm and blush every time they look down at my phone. Leaning back and texting them filth is fun, but not as fun wiggling my foot into their crotch and watching their eyes widen as they realise that they’re in for even more teasing. I can’t get them off like this, but that’s not the point. They point is to make their dick get hard and their composure slip.
And to make them wonder about what I’ve planned for them when we’re alone…
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.